A Song for the Titans
by Night Strider
Summary: Another last-ditch fic in honor of the Shohoku seniors. Maybe this is what you call a friendship fic but what the hell. Warning: written on crack. One shot.


A Song for the Titans

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: Another last-ditch fic in honor of the Shohoku seniors. Maybe this is what you call a friendship fic but what the hell. Warning: written on crack. One shot.

* * *

Shohoku High. Friday. 12.37 p.m.

Silence. And then a crash. Something that doesn't want to be seen bustles inside a nearby door. Doesn't matter which door it is, as long as it's a door and has what you can call a space inside.

"Ryota, what are you doing?"a female voice, as much in panic as in excitement, hisses.

"Aya-chan… they're h-here." Miyagi, forgetting to blush for the first time, stammers. Beads of sweat parade up and down his front as though it cost him a lot of effort to dive off from the empty school grounds outside to scuttle out of sight. Somehow, it did cost him that much effort.

Inside the stadium a surge of inexpressible disappointment sweeps Ayako's face. Her nostrils flare, the human warmth in her eyes leaving their surface completely. "What? I thought I told you to keep them busy? Since when did you start—"

"Ack!" Miyagi screeches, his blood running cold in his veins. It's also the first time he screeches like a girl. "They're really here!"

"Quick! Lead them off somewhere." Ayako, almost snarling, takes it on the very much disconcerted Miyagi. Urgency hangs like invisible dust in the air.

"How?"

"Make a diversion!"

"_How?"_

"Just do it!"

In a split second, Miyagi is forcibly booted out of the stadium all the way to the sweltering world outside. All in the name of love. What he's supposed to do, to be taking care of, seems lost in the deadened breeze. Inside the stadium, where whatever form of surprise awaits Kogure, Akagi, and Mitsui, all else is hushed. Ayako paces up and down an unseen path, her forefinger thumping away on her arm, as she mutters to herself ever so gingerly, "What team manager ever finds it hard to organize a surprise tribute? Honestly, I'm disappointed in me." A sigh, neither of security nor of gratitude, escapes her.

* * *

Shohoku. Same day. 12.24 p.m.

The Students' Council President was being deliberately unceremonious when he stopped Akagi Takenori, Kogure Kiminobu, and Mitsui Hisashi in the corridors. Mitsui was in the process of inching closer to some dreadful moment in the classroom then, all soaked up in worries as to his approaching final exam in English III. On the other hand, Akagi and Kogure were well on their trip back to room 309, where a one-hour session in World History awaited their return. All three seniors met up at lunch break, approximately at 11.35 that morning, and consumed the remaining time chatting away at the cafeteria, possibly about stuff only senior members of the Shohoku basketball team have right to know. Afterward they strode back to the campus building as if they were bulging with too much hormones they couldn't keep their strut down a notch (well, on second thought, with the exception of Kogure), whereupon their journey came into a complete, utter, desperate, unstoppable halt.

"Akagi-san, Kogure-san, Mitsui-san," the students' council president comes up to them, ever so formal in his manner of addressing. "I'd like you to excuse myself for a moment. There's a scheduled meeting for you to attend at the gym right about now. Have you had your lunch yet? I hope you have because you should be heading there now."

Mitsui skeptically raises an eyebrow and his face scrunches up with all the confusion of a misunderstood child. "What the hell, Soujiro; we have a test in English now—"

"Cool down. It's been postponed to Monday, Hisashi. As I've said, you guys are wanted at the sports gym. If I were you I'd be hustling there now."

"Well shit, and to think that I was up all night studying for that fuck." Mitsui grumbles and narrows his eyes further. Whether or not he views the postponement as a good fortune doesn't show in his face.

"On what business, Soujiro? We were just there the other day overseeing their practice game with Ryonan. Don't tell me they have another guest."Akagi says, perceptibly not amused by the disclosure of yet another interruption in the academic aspect of his life. If at all he has anything to worry about, it's because he missed so much during the Inter-High competition that he's so stumped up to catch up with the lessons. What's more, practice games are such a throwback nowadays what with Shohoku team faring so incomprehensibly well in both sides of defense and offense. While it maintains a happy thought for him as the squad's former captain, he can't see the point of preferring to watch it over other urgent concerns. School, for one.

Not to keep abreast of the on-going tension, Soujiro explains, "Your teacher gave away this period already. Like I said, you guys are wanted at the gym. So pack off." He finishes with an air of authority this time around. Then, without any preamble or excuse whatsoever, he scoots out of sight. He does it so speedily that neither Akagi nor Kogure has the chance for another word. The three swap doubtful glances amid the silence that dominates the vacant space they stand on. In the end, they wordlessly and unanimously decide that the gym is worth a look. Just a look, and not more. Later, when asked what made them come up with such an immediate and unsure decision, none of them could've said anything.

Hence, they scour their way under a sheet of intense sunlight, down to the often beaten path of the stadium where they can't count anymore how many times they've been in. They occasionally exchange words as they go, trading opinions as to the imminent destiny of Shohoku Basketball team now that they're leaving it. Especially now that they're leaving it. They wonder, as one, if Miyagi Ryota, not lacking in hard court experience as he is, is on the cuff for full-blown leadership and battering headaches. Deep down, they sincerely know that he is, and are gratefully safe in that thought.

"What is that idiot doing there looking like he just wet his pants?" Mitsui says, loving the way he just sounded: a true jerk.

"Beats me." Kogure says as he spots a seemingly trembling Miyagi rooted in front of the gym. Mitsui's right: Miyagi does look drenched in something.

Unless the three seniors' vision is playing tricks on them, Miyagi leaps upon meeting their gaze. He is dripping sweat from head to foot, which anyone could've associated with inner turmoil rather than a badly boiled weather. His smile is painfully constrained. The entrance door to the building where his back is flattened against is unmistakably tightly shut. The silence is so enormous, so established, that none would suspect that there are even breathing souls inside.

"So, Ryota, would you mind telling us about the occasion?" Akagi begins. The notes with which his voice trumpets spells menace.

* * *

At a bookshop a few blocks away from Shohoku High School. Same day. 12.15 pm.

Sakuragi feels his temper rising to tiptop. For someone who takes pride in his entire physique, he seems pathetically drained in terms of energy and reason, and looks simply awkward with that slouch. He's been cursing up a storm the moment he and Rukawa entered the establishment a few minutes prior. Now that he's turned redder and more incoherent, there seems to be no way out of this dilemma. He catches himself unable to focus, apart from being abnormally uncomfortable and touchy. To top it all, they're running out of time.

"You want my honest opinion? You choose colors like a fag!" Sakuragi growls at the unmoved Rukawa.

They have been assigned by Ayako to fetch three HUGE gift wraps for the presents they're handing over to Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui at the party later. Sakuragi would've rather died than to be stuck with Rukawa in some place he would never be caught prowling in to begin with, but since time is their priority at the present, and what with Rukawa having the "means" for speedy transport, they've been unquestionably paired for the fine task. "You want to be of some use this time, right?" Ayako told him but omitted to mention that Rukawa has been given the same role as well. By the time they've run out of time for appeals, Sakuragi caught himself in the stint he dreads most to be: alone with Rukawa with no other recourse. To complicate matters, He and Rukawa argue on everything they find worth arguing—which is everything. At the moment, for instance, having finally agreed on what print design to settle for, the color choice of each cannot quite match the other. For this reason, Sakuragi is at his wits' end.

"Oh, spare me the embarrassment. Pink?! Do you want me to mash your nuts for you, Kitsune? D'you honestly think Mitchy is one of your kind that he'd actually welcome anyone giving him something in a pink wrap? Give me a break. Even if it were a Lamborghini I'd slit my wrist if he actually accepts it." He explodes again. "Why did you have to go with me anyway?"

"Orders?" Rukawa offers. If he's being technical or just a jerk is beyond Sakuragi's understanding; all the latter knows is that, having Rukawa on his tail is a total drag.

"Cut the crap and go home, Kitsune."

"I'll take the bike with me, then."

"Quit being a nuisance. Just leave it parked for me and walk back."

"Buzz off, fucker."

"What's that, new words you've learned? I'm going to file that along with "doaho" and "shut up", shouldn't I?"

Rukawa just rolls his eyes, patience utterly wiped out of his face. One look at him and you can easily tell he's sick of being argumentative on just about everything. He and Sakuragi have been drifting from one shop to another in search of gift shops since lunch break sounded off from the bell, and it has taken them more than the permitted time to skim through the merchandise. To add to that, Sakuragi has all of a sudden gotten into the habit of handling things so frantically that right now Rukawa just wants the red head's patronizing asshole in its right place. And how dare he call the color pink ridiculous when he has red hair, and when he just rode high on Rukawa's pink bike? Rukawa makes up his mind then, swearing to come out victorious out of this fight. He'll show Sakuragi how much pink is worth. That's the main thing.

Thus, with perfect stealth, Rukawa pulls out three huge pieces of baby pink gift wrappers from the shelf and proceeds to the counter. He foots the bills in a minute, deftly dropping coins on the counter, while keeping himself wary of the torn Sakuragi at the far side of the shop. The latter apparently hasn't decided on what color and is visibly on the verge of cracking up.

"I'm leaving, doaho." Rukawa calls out to Sakuragi in his casual monotone and waves the goods he just purchased in front of the confounded and incredulous red-head.

Sakuragi's eyes bulge at the sight of the glittering pink substance in Rukawa's clutch as the latter holds on to it with a kind of possessiveness. He could've clouted Rukawa as hard and gratifyingly as he desires had he not seen him fast on his way to the exit in the next second, then probably burning rubber in the next. Left without a choice and fearing to be outraced back to Shohoku campus, he hurtles after the raven-haired boy, exclaiming profanities that could only come from pure anger and annoyance. They leave the shop as the personnel at the cashier desk polishes her nails with perfect propriety, unable to care less about what two young troublemakers have or haven't accomplished.

* * *

Shohoku gym. Same day. 12.40 pm

"Good day, captain." Mitsui hails humorously at Miyagi. "How's the new job running you, or is it the other way around?"

Miyagi smiles nervously, regardless if there's really anything to smile about. Something in his reaction has been sloppily trimmed, like things are going to go way wrong in one careless snap. He hasn't answered either of Akagi's or Mitsui's question, too, and he can feel curious glances parachuting squarely at where he stands.

"Shall we go in?" Kogure proffers. He, too, is beginning to exhibit a tone of impatience.

"Ah…I…"

As all stutters are, Miyagi's are futile; before he could jump in front of his seniors and defend the entranceway, Mitsui and Akagi pry the double doors open. Inside, each heart bangs away underneath a breastbone, a clamor is silenced, and people in earnest preparation now washed over with shock slowly scamper away from their leisure. Something in their overall look says that they weren't expecting any spoilage or disruption of any sort; such as the early arrival of the celebrants, namely, Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui. A mike stand is in the middle of the wooden floor, whereas from up above long ribbons in black, red, and white hang loosely. Set at the stage, a huge and perfectly loud banner reads, "A Tribute to our Heroes: Celebrating the Greatness of our Sempais".

A grainy image begins unfolding before the three seniors or else it's reality in its sweetest version. They can feel the pressure of all eyes on them, eyes they've looked into countless times, beseeching them to put their trust in their seniors. Eyes that are loving, and not weighing them down one bit. How they want to continue looking at them, still. No word is spoken or no word is needed to be spoken. A whirlwind of emotions dances in the free expanse, compressed in a single moment of victory that neither Akagi, nor Kogure, nor Mitsui can ever begin to convert to any words as they stand there in perfect vulnerability.

Insulated from the general sentiment, Ayako puts up a motion with her hand, changes her mind then, and withdraws it. At a loss for words, thoughts of speaking up in explanation bubble up unbidden into her head. How is she going to explain this to her seniors now? She and the team were planning to hold a ceremony to honor Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui for their excellent service. They were meaning to make the event as dramatic, beautiful, and grand as their resources could allow: they were meaning to surprise them, and not to spoil the whole show by letting these three catch them at unawares, in the very act of prepping up for the event. What's transpiring now, before her very eyes, is nothing like this beautiful occasion should be. She wants to cry, revolt, or transform back to the order-crazed manager that she unalterably is. She would've, if only to salvage the situation to some extent…

"There's a reason why we're not called the kings of the Inter High. To be called as such, you have to be man enough to deserve it." As if on cue, a voice that can only belong to Miyagi rings out. Eyes traverse in mingled surprise and relief from the three seniors to their new captain. How he got to the middle of the court, how he came to stand before that mike and to ultimately articulate this seemingly rehearsed script, no one really knows. "As we come to the heart of our show, my beloved team mates, let us welcome the titans of Shohoku…or of Kanagawa…or of Japan if you please." He pauses and nods emphatically to the direction of Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui. "In Mythology, the titans are even greater than the gods. They are worshipped by kings and commoners alike and respected by the gods themselves. That's how they are, how great they are. I am therefore honored to have such great entities in our midst. They are, as the banner over there reads, our heroes, and will continue to leave their mark in Shohoku High long after they're gone. So even if we're not kings, we had them to take care of us, and that alone is victory. My team mates, and loved ones, I humbly ask you to pay your respects to our titans: Akagi-sempai, Kogure-sempai, and Mitsui-sempai."

Miyagi finishes, his eyes moistening vis-à-vis the clean shaft of light that pierces even through the glass windows. He isn't alone in this emotional display as one by one, his team mates follow suit. Ayako's tears now know no restraint as she eyes Miyagi with a lingering sense of pride. Maybe she's thinking of finally revising her opinion of him. Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui all stand frozen, their breaths profound, their voices lost in the bottomless depth of their throats.

Just then a bang shoots out from behind them. Something rough, scattered, and indecisive violates the atmosphere. In a fillip, Sakuragi's curses amplify with each step he takes, Rukawa at his heels. Both guys reek of fuel combustion, fatigue, and sun-induced perspiration. Sakuragi advances to the center of the group and almost faints at the moving scene that greets him. Halfway through feverishly searching the crowd he finds what he should be looking for, right there behind the slight frame of Yasuda, the newly appointed sub-captain: The presents for Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui. These are none other than enlarged, bordered photos of the Shohoku Basketball Team. All of the members have signed their names in, replete with personal, touchingly inspired notes in dedication to the three departing seniors. Sakuragi sprints toward the pictures in a daft attempt to conceal them from the three's vision. "It's supposed to be a surprise." He repeatedly and frustratingly berates himself in undertones.

"Forget it, doaho; too late. They already saw it." Rukawa speaks out in a voice that breaks glaciers. He's right; Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui have all seen the pictures already and are consequently visibly overwhelmed by them.

"Well, that's great. That means we're no longer gonna use your retarded pink shit to cover them—"

Whacks. Ayako's paper fan whips Sakuragi's head in the middle of his tirade. But it's not Ayako who swings it this time, but Akagi. Sakuragi aims to fight back but seeing the look on Akagi's face, he altogether gives up on that line of thought. Silence resumes. In a while, the seniors are marching up toward the mike stand. Akagi is the first to grab on to it.

"In mythology, the titans are the most powerful of all beings. But we must remember: these are mythologies. Mythologies are written by men, writers whose knowledge are far greater than the might of any titan, god, or king that they created. In the real world, titan though I am, you, my team mates, are my writers. I wouldn't ask for more." Akagi croaks. Tears course down his cheeks as he turns away, unable to bear the load he carries.

Coming to his rescue, but with no less emotion, Kogure goes on, "It's like what he says: if we were given the choice, we would go through all this again. Shohoku, all of you, you shaped us into what we are now. We can never thank you enough, that's for certain."

"You should just hang in there, pals, and stop sniveling, 'cos we're not going anywhere." Mitsui beams and winks at them; as he does so, the crowd beaks into a glorious roar and round of applause. In a while, all three are sunk into a flurry of tender embraces. No such warmth has been exchanged under that roof until then.

That day the Shohoku Basketball Team cried, laughed, and celebrated as one. No one knows for sure how to describe the emotions that filled that gym, no one knows if such feelings, shared and sacred all at once, could ever be duplicated in the following seasons Shohoku would come to know. Few could scarcely believe it when we say that the Shohoku Basketball Team was the best damn high school team in Japan. But even that is trivial as we realize that what held these boys together is more than just the force that gravitated them toward the championship goal: Beyond everything we know about them, a strengthened bond of brotherhood emerges. Perhaps, that's all that's worth knowing where this team is concerned.

END

A/N: Shit. That has gotta suck major ass, dude. I don't know why I wrote this, to be honest. It's past midnight and my spine hurts like hell and I really should be in bed now but sleeping has become quite a pain. Time isn't exactly my luxury but then again, I'm probably just fueled by the fact that the semester has restarted. It's not every well-written and I guess I should say I'm sorry for the plotlessness. Is it too late to say that now? Haha.

On a final note, if you've guessed from the title, it's based on a movie called "Remember the Titans". I also extracted one line off its script so don't sue me for plagiarism.


End file.
